Roz ponders the best way to destroy Simba The Bear.

Roz and Dominique quarrel about the existence of Simba The Bear.

Dominique Rose reveals herself as rozmichelle's sexy, confident alter ego.

To read more about my new comic strip, Alter Ego, and find out more about Dominique, click on the comic.

It was after 2 am when she sashayed into my bedroom in black tights and a white tank top. Oh, and black boot heels, of course. Had to have her leather fix. Her hair was swept up into a high ponytail, fastened by what looked like a spiked dog collar hair clip, and she had on her signature candy red lipstick. I could see red bra straps peeking out of their place, and a few silver bangles decorated her arms. She arched her back and raised her arms to the sky as if stretching out a well deserved nap. We made eye contact as I lay in my bed, vacantly counting sheep. She yawned, smiled and sat on my bedside. I waited for her to speak.

“I painted my nails black,” I said, slicing the silence and closing my eyes as she relaxed on her back beside me.

“Black is a powerful color,” she said, slipping her hand into mine. “I watched you pick the polish. Good choice. Sexy.”

“I won’t lie. I love it. It just…fits. I feel a bit rebellious. Who knew nail polish could do such a thing.”

“It’s not the polish. It’s you. You’re getting used to the idea of me.”

I opened my eyes and turned towards her. There was just something that I had to know. “What took you so long to come to me?” I asked. “I mean…23 years and a heartbreak later, you show up in a dream. Why?”

She shifted and got under the sheets with me. “When you curse out people for their ignorance, or when you graduated from college with two majors when you could barely finish one, or when you pierced your belly button last summer just because… Was that you, or me?”

I paused. I guess I’ve managed to accomplish some bold things on my own, and I guess she was right there with me during those moments, too. I only recently was able to acknowledge her existence within me.

“Roz,” she said, taking out a stick of peppermint gum, “you are your best friend and worst enemy. Only you can hurt yourself. No one else can hurt you without your permission. The strength that you think I possess is simply the strength that you have yet to accept in yourself. I won’t be by your side forever. At some point, you have to let us become one. Right now, you’re just beside yourself.” She placed the gum on her tongue and chewed it slowly. “So…what’s up with the ring?” she asked.

I looked down at my left hand at my newest piece of jewelry. I bought it while in Philly waiting for my connection flight. It’s a sterling silver ring with a dime-sized heart on top, its center filled with a black stone. “As if you don’t already know. This was definitely influenced by you. I don’t know what made me buy it… I saw it and immediately fell in love with it. And when I tried it on, I just never took it off. Bought it just like that, with it on my finger. It makes me feel–wait…” I paused for a moment. This heffa must have known why I picked out this particular ring. “You picked it out for me, didn’t you? You were with me, in the jewelry store?”

She made that Mona Lisa smile again. “Well, it goes well with the black polish. Very good combination. That ring…You should wear it for as long as you need to be reminded how strong you are. You’re tougher than you realize. So, maybe I had a little to do with the choice.”

I smiled back. “Thanks, Dominique. It’s not going to come off.”

“Do what you gotta do. You feel stronger to me. I love your energy these days. Remember that you were hurt during your moments of weakness. It’s your moments of strength that you have to keep in mind.”

“I know. Thanks.” I played with the ring as she got out of bed and headed back to the balcony door. “Dominique?” I called, before she exited.

“Roz.”

“The black nail polish… Was that you, too?”

She smiled. “Nope. That move was all you.” Moments later I was alone again, but deep down, I knew that I wasn’t really by myself. I curled back up in my sheets and closed my eyes, ready to rest in preparation for another day.

It was all so tragically appealing: the solemn, Gothic appearance of it all, as if my usual order of personality traits were somehow transposed into a fierce rendition of myself as I’d like to be on weaker days. I searched her hands for some sort of whip, and waited for the mouth to open and reveal two freshly sharpened fangs dripping with the sweet flavor of blood. There had to be some sort of siren or vampire in this new character of mine. The outfit was just too commanding to be labeled as everyday casual. But there was no whip, no fangs. Just the strong figure of a woman plotting her next move.

It was intriguing, witnessing this version of me from afar, the former me creeping behind a tree somewhere to avoid meeting eye contact with this woman. She wasn’t me, but she was me; she was all that I’d been to afraid to confront in myself, and I was nervous about even approaching her lest she dispatch me for being so inferior.

She seemed statuesque, as if she’d posed for countless hours for the likes of Da Vinci, perhaps inspiring the cryptic curve of Mona Lisa’s smile. I waited for her to move, captivated by this alluring derivative of myself, and wondered if this would really be the chemical result of a simmered, condensed form of me after all the impurities had been boiled off. I leaned in a bit closer to analyze her features. Maybe this wasn’t really me. Maybe I’d simply hoped that someone like her could resemble me, even if only in a dream. As I peered from behind the trunk of the tree that was guarding my existence, I shifted my weight towards the right so I could get a better look. Same button nose, same brown eyes, same slender frame, although a bit more pronounced that I’m used to. Yes, she looked like me…but was she?

Brown leaves crunched beneath my feet as I balanced myself in my hideout. A rush of fear immediately flooded my veins as the sound of the tearing foliage filled the crisp night air. I closed my eyes as if hiding my vision would make the noise disappear, but it was too late. I could practically hear the noise hit her eardrums as she turned her head in my direction. I squinted my eyes at her, hoping she wouldn’t pinpoint my location as she scanned the trees for the source of the sound. I panicked as she narrowed her line of vision and looked directly at what felt like me. My breath held and my muscles frozen tight, I could hear the quick beats of my heart against my lungs as I tried to cherish the small bits of oxygen remaining in my system.

And then she moved.

The goddess came towards me with easy strides (…was that my walk?), the air pardoning its presence to make way for her passage. She moved slowly, her gaze fixated on her destination as if her eyes could see me through the shadows that were trying their best to shelter me. The earth seemed to regain color under each step of her heels; I soon waited to see if life would sprout from the soil after being impacted by the weight of such a beautiful creature. She came closer, her pace quickening with each yard that brought her closer to me until finally, she arrived.

With a gentle push, she threw off my balance and I found myself toppled awkwardly on my back in a pile of leaves and branches, staring at my own eyes from inches away. She’d swiftly climbed on top of me, and I felt her energy consume me as she came closer. Twinkles glistened in her eyes and her mouth mimicked the Mona Lisa’s as I realized that I was perhaps the very prey she’d been awaiting on that balancing slope of hers.

“Roslyn. I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.
“Who are you?” I asked in more of an exhale than a voice.
She smirked and palmed the left side of my face with a cool hand, angling my face in a way that seemed to catch the moon’s rays of light perfectly. I didn’t know if she was going to spare me or devour me. “Who do you think I am?” she asked, sliding a finger down the curve of my neck. “Or better yet…who would you like me to be?” A shiver shot through me and I shifted in the branches as she pressed herself deeper into my frame. Was she–I–seducing me–myself? I couldn’t quite piece together what was occurring, but I wasn’t exactly fighting to find out either. A twig rubbed its rough surface against my chest and I could feel the stream of blood irrigate my skin.
“I–I don’t know,” I stammered, suddenly unsure of myself. “I don’t know who you are.”
“Au, contraire,” she countered. “You know me very well. Better than you think. You’ve just taken a while to find me.”
She was patient with me as I digested her words, her hands now softly combing through my hair.
“A name… Just, give me a name,” I said, closing my eyes to prevent further penetration.
She leaned in a bit more, her cheek now pressed into mine; her mouth just a kiss away from my ear.
“My name,” she whispered, “is Dominique Rose. And I’m who you’ve been waiting for. You need no one else, Roz. I’m all the love you’ll ever need, and I can be found directly inside of you. But I need you to be ready for me. I can’t come in without your permission.”

She released me from her hold and stood up, placing a hand on her hip and blowing me a kiss with the other. I felt the gesture travel through the wind as a warm tingling sensation spread through my untouched lips. And as quickly as she was gone was as quickly as I drifted into what felt like a coma.

Moments later, I woke up clearheaded. I instantly remembered my dream, as if it had really happened, and sighed at how weak I felt in the presence of my reinforced prototype. I repeated her name in my head and thought about what she’d said to me, entertaining the idea of letting her be my muse. She seemed so strong, calm, cool and confident. I could learn a lot from her, I thought to myself. Marianne Williamson and Nelson Mandela once said in similar words that our greatest fear isn’t that we are inadequate; it is that we are powerful beyond our belief. I’ve spent too much time fearing my own capabilities. It was at that moment that I decided I’d free the true diva within me. I’d been ignoring her for so long.

I got out of my bed and went to the mirror where I noticed a fresh, thin cut on my chest, lightly stained with blood. Placing a hand over the wound, I felt the sturdy thump of what felt like two heartbeats, one echoing strength into the next, and a confident smile crept over my face.
“Nice to meet you, Dominique. Ready when you are.”
Mona Lisa herself would be envious.